


Resistance

by rochelleechidna



Series: Quarantine 2020 YGO Fics [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Banter, Blow Jobs, Citronshipping, Denial of Feelings, Domestic, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, First Kiss, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Journalism, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, Light Bondage, Locked In, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Painplay, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Revolution, Rimming, Romance, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Stripping, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rochelleechidna/pseuds/rochelleechidna
Summary: It had been seven years since the thief king fell back into Malik's life and bed. But quarantine had a way of turning sex stale, facilitating the need for them to try new ways of getting off - and uncovering hidden emotions and memories in the process.
Relationships: Citronshipping - Relationship, Thief King Bakura/Malik Ishtar
Series: Quarantine 2020 YGO Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740052
Comments: 16
Kudos: 20





	1. I Get Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike the other two entries in this series, this fic takes place in real-time for the YGO canon. So, we have obligatory aged-up characters - and an age difference that was amusing to write. I also debated for a long time whether this warranted a PWP label, since it's really just these two fucking for a good chunk of the story. But I'd like to think there's enough character growth and emotional revelations that push it beyond _just_ smut - trust me, when I write shameless porn, y'all will be the first to know haha

The early morning sun blazed full-force through large windows, filling the ostentatious boudoir with a heat that only the foreign cityscapes of Egypt could provide.

Of course, Bakhure barely noticed the sun – given that his sight was removed by the blindfold on his face. Nor did he have much use for the heat – given that he instead felt a wet tongue, warmed to an almost uncomfortable level from near-scalding tea, trace up his spine in one broad stroke.

This was the ultimate trust exercise, the definitive mental game - knowing that the thief, with all his dexterity and nimble fingers, could escape at any moment from the confines that pinned him across the bed’s intricate headboard… but instead _chose_ to stay restrained.

“Taking it easy? Gods help me if I become this soft at your age.” The impression of warmth along Bakhure’s back was certainly intense, but he arched into the touch – and whined softly when he felt Malik pull away.

“I’ve barely started, you ass.”

“Well, considering it’s _my_ ass that— _ahh!_ ”

Bakhure moaned as his wild, cropped hair was pulled back in one strong tug – baring his shoulder and neck for Malik to assault with sharp bites. To a lesser man, the onslaught – which, unbeknownst to him, pierced through tawny skin and left in its wake a faint, single droplet of blood – might have been the breaking point. But for Bakhure, who reveled in the rough play, he had to agree with his partner – this _literally_ barely scratched the surface of their latest erotic escapades.

They had been confined to their – really, Malik’s – spacious apartment for months now due to the continued craziness of the world. Not that Bakhure had cause to venture outdoors much anyway, aside from the occasional urge to pick someone’s pocket just to prove he still could. Malik had more than enough money from his clan and his side-job at the newspaper to keep them both living in comfort – and _definitely_ more than enough of a sexual appetite to make sure Bakhure never spent a night unsatisfied.

But the idea of staying inside when it wasn’t his choice... _that_ had managed to make Bakhure go stir-crazy. And it was obvious that his roommate wasn’t faring any better – no surprise, considering Malik's distaste for feeling trapped or confined, no matter how lavish the prison.

Perhaps that was why the marks left on Bakhure’s body felt slightly more raw today – it was as if the blond intended to let out all his repressed frustration, and the only way he knew how was through carnal release.

“Rough around the edges today?” Bakhure smirked, and leaned his head on the carved wood – practically yelling when two expert fingers reached around to pinch and pull at a hardened nipple. He felt Malik’s other hand scratch its way down his front, stopping _just_ short of the cock that curved up into his stomach.

“Only if it shuts you up. No fun otherwise.”

Not surprisingly, non-stop sex had gotten old after the first couple weeks of confinement – it’d made for a lovely distraction before becoming a chore before devolving into a nuisance. So, they’d decided that now would be the perfect time to explore anything they might have missed in their many attempts to get each other off. They’d already gone through half of the _Kama Sutra_ , every toy they could get their hands on – delayed deliveries be damned – and even several spells conveniently salvaged from the tombs.

This week, they’d settled on testing the waters for bondage and painplay – though, if the way Malik acted was any indication, today was less of a test-run and more of a deep dive. They’d been at it for nearly two hours, and Malik had shown no sign of giving Bakhure what he wanted – infuriating the thief, who refused to beg for what was rightfully his.

His vision cut off, Bakhure sensed Malik step away and heard him rummage through something that made a series of crinkly noises. He might have imagined it, but he could have sworn he felt the older man’s eyes roam over him as he panted against the headboard. Malik said something unintelligible and, moments later, the earlier sound became obvious – Bakhure hissed as a sharp chill dragged along his cock.

“I thought ice— was your fucking kink—”

“Do you like it?”

“ _Mmph_ —”

Malik slapped Bakhure’s ass harder than expected and bit into his neck again as punctuation – as if he aimed to mark every inch of the thief’s dark body.

“I won’t ask again.” Malik hissed in Bakhure’s ear and pressed his teeth against the soft lobe. The ice dripped along Bakhure’s throbbing erection – matching the warmth it emanated with an almost-pleasant almost-painful coolness.

“ _Gods_ — Fuck, yes—”

It was hard to deny that the sensation struck every nerve in the thief's body – especially after waiting so long for even one touch to his groin. The lack of sight only heightened his pleasure, and it left his imagination to wonder how intense Malik looked… how wrecked _he_ looked.

Yet when Bakhure sensed the cube had melted enough and felt Malik’s fingers just slightly graze at his shaft from behind, he almost lost his damn mind. The feel of the other’s hard, lubed cock against his backside had the thief bending backwards, making Malik push forward to rut between his cheeks.

“So close already? I’m barely touching you.” And to the thief’s shame, Malik was right.

Bakhure ground brazenly against his hand to gain better friction, but felt the dexterous fingers pull away each time he thrust – only to lightly tease along the leaking cockhead without actually giving the thief the satisfaction he craved. And as he felt the digits withdraw completely only to return with yet another frozen cube assaulting Bakhure’s overly-sensitive arousal… it was too much.

Their agonising pattern of barely touching and rocking into each other and toying with Bakhure’s senses continued for what felt like forever – as more ice and then fingers dipped in just-hot-enough liquids and finally spice-infused lube ran firm against his cock. Bakhure could only curse with each change in sensation, his voice growing louder and more eager.

After what must have been another thirty minutes, he couldn’t take a millisecond more.

“Please, gods— _ngh_ — make me— I— I need—”

“What’s that? You want to come?”

Were he in a better frame of mind, Bakhure might have called Malik out on his obsessive levels of control, especially in the bedroom. Instead, he called a desperate version of Malik’s name out as the teasing hand finally enclosed fully around his cock – but still refused to move.

“You know what to do.” Bakhure felt a wicked smile press into his back as Malik spoke – he still held all the power, but a slight breathiness betrayed his own desire for release. He pushed harder in between Bakhure’s ass and pulled his hair again so that the thief now bent almost completely backwards – before trailing more bites up the bruised neck to nip at his jawline and flushed cheekbones. “Scream my name.”

It was the same game they always played – getting the thief to lower his defenses all in the name of an orgasm. But after so long on edge, Bakhure was in no position to change the rules.

“Malik—”

“Again.”

The hand around Bakhure’s twitching cock finally stroked – spreading precum with each unhurried movement – and the thief couldn’t restrain his cries even if he wanted to.

“ _Fuck_ — Malik—”

“Louder.”

Malik’s motions became increasingly frenzied, more erratic – and in the back of his mind, Bakhure knew the blond was reaching the point when he allowed even himself his own small release of control.

“ _Ohhhh_ — M—Malik—”

“I said _scream_ , Bakhure!”

“ _Fuck, Malik, fuck, fuck, fuck— I’m gonna— Ahhhh— Malik!_ ”

Bakhure came hard over his chest and Malik’s hand – enough to see stars behind his blindfold – and felt the other man groan out his own climax against the thief’s back.

And the darkness suddenly became overbearing and the realisation that he was floating and alone rushed to the fore of Bakhure’s mind and his body was slack from climax but also from paralysing fear and—

“You look absurd with that on.”

The thief blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the light and his hands were released from the bed posts. Once he’d rubbed his wrists and accustomed himself to the bedroom sans blindfold, Bakhure turned to see Malik cleaning himself off on the other side of the bed.

“So… was it good for you?” The thief smirked and leaned back into the fluffy pillows – not caring if he’d dirtied them with multiple bodily fluids over the course of their session. Malik grimaced and made his way over to Bakhure.

“Idiot.” A damp towel was dragged across the thief’s chest – and he laid down to be serviced like the “king” he once was. Malik rolled his eyes at the gesture and moved a hand to turn Bakhure’s head – furrowing his brow at the marks he’d left along the entire left side. But a moment later, his typical aloof expression returned and he shook his head. “They’ll heal.”

“ _Hmph._ I’ve had worse.”

For a split second, the two ex-criminals caught each other’s gaze and took in the subtle changes that time had marked on one another – from the faint crow’s feet around Malik’s eyes to the thinning hair that framed Bakhure’s face. They each reached a hand up to caress the other’s features – before stopping short and returning to their business-as-usual clean-up arrangement.

Five minutes later, Bakhure was tidied up, still fully naked - and left all alone as Malik went about his day.

* * *

“ _…ruling classes tremble at a Communistic revolution…_ ”

Now only _half_ -naked, Bakhure lay flat against the couch as his audiobook played out. The cool air from a nearby fan focused him on the words rattling in his head, and he shut his eyes to sink into the narration.

The funny thing about being stuck inside was how it made the exciting boring and the mundane exhilarating. Pre-quarantine, the thief had spent the last seven years playing video games, eating too well, sleeping at odd hours and painting images of his past on the apartment walls – much to Malik’s chagrin.

Yet none of those activities struck Bakhure as worth pursuing now, and the feeling of being held captive in his own home had run him ragged by the second week. So, he’d taken to clearing his mind and calming his senses by catching up on the revolutionary thoughts of those who’d lived since his “death.” Whether it was Plato, Confucius, Machiavelli or – today’s topic – Marx, the thief found a strange comfort in learning that many of his own ideas for social progress and new world orders had grown in favour over time.

“Feet off the couch.”

Bakhure opened his eyes to see Malik - hair tied back, holding a cup of tea in one hand and his laptop in the other. He wore the glasses that he loathed with a fiery passion but which Bakhure secretly adored. Not that the thief would ever openly admit to _adoring_ anything, least of all his roommate. His partner. His fuck buddy. His—

“Sure you’ve never taken it up the ass? Seeing as how you’re literally the most anal-retentive person I’ve ever met?” Bakhure slid further down the couch in defiance. “And, mind you, I spent thousands of years sharing space with a literal demon. So that’s saying something.”

Malik lowered his head and stared – and the awkward silence became too much too quickly for Bakhure.

“What are you doing?”

“Letting you tire yourself out. If it worked on my nieces and nephews, it’d certainly work on you.”

“Calling me a child?” Bakhure did sit up then – but only to draw closer to Malik’s face as a challenge. “So, you’re just drawing attention to how much younger I am? I’m flattered.”

Malik betrayed no emotion as he backed away and headed for the balcony.

“At least those kids knew how to treat their elders. Gods help you if you actually lifted a finger around here.”

Bakhure watched the too-alluring swivel of Malik’s hips as he stretched his long limbs across a chair outside. The thief shook his head at the obvious display, but found he couldn’t quite get his focus back in the mindset for philosophy with his partner spread out _like that_ – thin tank top barely covering his toned abs, bare legs drawn up to rest on the railing, slightly greyed hair blowing in the breeze…

He could barely believe that Malik would turn 39 in December – met with the usual non-existent fanfare and, hopefully, a few less broken dishes strewn around the apartment compared to previous years.

Meanwhile, Bakhure had never taken note of his birthday even while alive in ancient Egypt – only vaguely aware that he must have been in his 23rd year by the time he’d “died.” So, he and Malik had labelled his unofficial birthday as the day he’d returned to the realm of the living – meaning the former thief king was within a few months of turning 31.

The irony of technically being the “younger” one amused Bakhure to no end – but really, Malik only had himself to blame. Had the former tombkeeper not waited until _after_ his better years – spent basking in the alternative lifestyles led by many young adults in Alexandria during the 2000’s – to seek out a way to bring back the fabled thief king of his childhood… well, Bakhure thought, at least the age-defying Ishtar genes helped quell any concerns that might be had about their age difference.

Not that there should have been issues anyway. Theirs was a purely physical relationship. Even in their teenage years during and right after Battle City, the carnal draw they had to one another was strong enough to bridge the distance between two continents. They had spent many a night teasing their arousal to the point of desperation, making each other call out their names with clumsy tongues or slippery fingers.

He’d never admit it – especially to the blond – but those moments of physicality had kept the thief grounded after his failure to defeat the Pharaoh. And when Malik – his reasons a mystery – had relinquished Bakhure from the shadows and returned him in his original form years later, they promptly picked back up where they’d left off, only this time with no holds barred so far as their bodies were concerned.

There were a few ground rules they’d silently agreed upon since resuming their carnal activities. No facing each other as they fucked. No touching Malik's back. No kissing. No chance in hell that Malik would ever bottom. It had all seemed well and good at first – but Bakhure wondered if perhaps those guidelines could be tested now. After all, Malik _had_ been the one to suggest that this was a time for experimentation…

“Can I help you?” The blond barely looked up from his laptop when Bakhure sat down next to him.

“You look tense.”

“I have a deadline.”

“In that case, I was thinking—” Bakhure inched closer, falling to his knees. “—Maybe I could help _you_.”

Malik smirked at the not-so-subtle invitation, but kept his eyes glued to the screen.

“I’m working.”

“You’re talented, Ishtar. Ever heard of multitasking?” At the invocation of his surname, Malik finally met the thief’s gaze – and the thin eyebrow raised above those rimmed glasses shouldn’t have been nearly so arousing to Bakhure. He swallowed hard and crept in-between the muscular legs that were scarcely covered by a pair of loose shorts. “Besides, I’ve seen the sort of crap you write. I could do that in my sleep.”

“We’re outside.”

“Who’d be looking at us on the top floor?” Bakhure leaned forward and fingered the edges of Malik’s waistband. “Remember, I’m a thief. I can be discreet if I need to.”

"You could have another attack."

"Aw, worried about me?" Bakhure slipped a hand under Malik's tank top, stroking the defined muscles along his abdomen. "Inhaler's right inside. For all the good it does."

“Maybe I’m just not in the mood.”

Bakhure’s resolve snapped – he moved his hand down to palm the obvious erection tenting Malik’s shorts. The former tombkeeper tried to maintain his sense of control by placing his fingers – gentler than normal – over Bakhure’s, leading them down to remove the pesky bottoms. He spread his legs wide, and the thief almost _did_ forget to breathe as he took in the sight of the thick cock - displayed for his eyes only.

“Someone really _could_ see, Bakhure.” The slight worry in Malik’s voice was surprising, but the thief pressed forward with the task literally at hand.

“Since when do you care what people think?”

“I know your Egypt was more accepting. But you’ve been here seven years. Long enough to— _ohh, fuck_.”

Bakhure could have laughed at how easily he’d shut up the svelte man splayed out before him – were he not wholly preoccupied with running his tongue along the salty flesh between his legs.

Malik groaned low, still keeping the laptop open to give the general appearance of working – and Bakhure genuinely took offense. Here he was, on his knees in apparent worship of his cock – _and the bastard had the audacity to act like this was all normal?_

Well, if Malik insisted on making him whine unabashedly during every other fucking, there was no reason Bakhure couldn’t do the same to him now. By gods – he’d _make_ his partner scream.

Blow jobs were more often a preamble to sex when it was Malik receiving. But this time around, Bakhure put all his attention into torturously fondling his roommate’s sack, coating his tall shaft with spit, running a careful thumb over the beading tip, swirling his tongue around the fat head – before slowly easing his lips down and drawing the most delightful whimpers from the man above him.

Bakhure felt a hand reach out to grab his hair and pull him further in – but the thief resisted, drawing back and flicking his tongue against the slit in such a way that Malik unconsciously opened his legs even more.

“ _Ngh_ — Fuck— you—”

Bakhure smiled in satisfaction against the length and finally gave Malik what he wanted – dropping down in one go so that his cock reached deep into his throat. The blond positively shouted as he was held captive within the addictive warmth of the thief’s mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his free hand moved to decisively close the laptop. _Now_ Bakhure could have fun.

He hollowed out his cheeks, and tenuous bobs grew to purposeful strokes. His broad tongue ran across the underside of Malik’s cock as he withdrew and pushed back in – each time beckoning forth more and more cries of ecstasy.

“Fucking bastard— _gods!_ ”

A tight grip held Bakhure’s head in place, and the thief – aware it went against one of their rules – dared to steal a glance at his partner, who was lost in absolute pleasure. Malik was arched against the chair, legs slightly trembling, eyes shut tight, lips not-so-silently screaming. Bakhure had thought when he’d reached this point that he’d want to tease Malik like he’d been teased so many times before – coaxing him to climax through foul words and power struggles.

But watching the surprisingly vulnerable and brazen display… the thief felt a rush of blood to his own cock like never before, and he doubled down on his efforts to make Malik come _now_.

Bakhure sucked and licked and stroked and hummed and saliva ran down his chin and the need for air grew stronger with each passing second. But it was all worth it just to see Malik climb higher and higher – and to feel himself grow impossibly harder with each chant of his name and each shameless cry and each acknowledgment that it was _his_ lips and _his_ hands and _his_ tongue that were making this drop-dead gorgeous man come.

“ _Fuck_ — so— so close—so close— I— _Bakhure_ —!”

The blond did indeed scream his release hot and thick down Bakhure’s throat, and the thief – true to form – greedily lapped up each drop. His cock was in desperate need for its own relief, but Bakhure didn’t even notice – he was too distracted by how Malik looked in that moment to care about anything else.

For perhaps the first time in their entire sexual history – though, given their “no watching” policy, maybe it had been the case every time – Malik appeared utterly wrecked. Gold hair splayed out, breathing heavy, cheeks red, glasses askew…

And for a split second, Bakhure followed through on an urge to draw himself up into his partner’s face and bask in the immediate afterglow of his orgasm. Malik still reflexively ran his hand through Bakhure’s hair – pulling their faces closer – and his expression became almost self-conscious as the thief hovered over his panting mouth. The thief didn’t even notice when he settled a hand atop Malik’s chest as it rose and fell – feeling the pounding heartbeat underneath as it settled back into a normal rhythm.

“You’re such a fucking distraction.”

Malik pushed off from his chair, making Bakhure tumble back onto the concrete floor. The older man retied his loose hair, lifted his shorts and stormed back into the apartment – but not before revealing an oddly somber look from the doorway. The thief slid back against the rails and trailed a hand down to his needy arousal – replaying the last few minutes of his partner’s climax over and over.

Five minutes later, Bakhure joined Malik inside – satiated, but somehow even less satisfied.


	2. Heart-Shaped Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I argued with myself a lot about how much to include of current events in this fic - especially since the world has changed, and is changing, a lot since I began this trilogy. In the end, I didn't want to be too overtly political because I felt it would take away from the very real messages of those on the front lines, especially with such a smutty story. _But_ I also think if anyone in the YGO canon would be down for inciting pure revolution - particularly in Egypt's current situation - it'd definitely be the thief king.

It was mid-afternoon, and the sun was past its apex – submerging the apartment with a harsh gold-black light. The thief was now fully dressed, and had just finished listening to his audiobook – eyes closed all the while as he gained a newfound appreciation for Marxism and the struggles of the proletariat – when he felt a sharp prod against his chest. Bakhure instinctively moved his feet off the couch – cursing himself for giving in to the earlier order – and found himself looking up into Malik’s hair as it waterfalled down his face.

“Figured you’d need something to do.”

Malik placed a pristine set of brushes and paints into Bakhure’s lap, and the thief’s eyes went wide.

This wasn’t anything new – for all his bitching about “messing up the walls,” Malik would occasionally bring Bakhure some small gift from his travels across Egypt – always a token that _meant_ something to the thief. Robes, snake figurines, audiobooks – or, like today, artistic tools.

In his own way, Bakhure would leave his own presents for Malik – usually on their shared kitchen table, so as to avoid the embarrassment. _Unlike_ his partner, Bakhure attained his gifts through theft. It didn’t much trouble him how he’d grown from a poor child of the desert stealing to sustain himself from one day to another - to a full-grown adult pilfering stores whenever he came across something that he thought _Malik_ would like. Whether it was gold rings, shining bracelets or a new kohl pot when the blond had broken his own in a fit of rage – the thief maintained his mantra that anything he saw was something he could steal… but conveniently ignored how he no longer stole just for himself.

Neither one ever acknowledged the gifts, instead acting as if they’d manifested from thin air – so the fact that Malik was publicly recognising _this_ present threw Bakhure for a loop.

“Enabling my bad habits? Shouldn’t I be punished instead of rewarded?” The thief slid down to align himself against Malik’s groin, but the blond backed away with a huff.

“Gods, it’s always fucking sex with you, isn’t it?”

“Afraid I don’t know any other kind of sex besides the fucking kind.”

“Just use them. Or not. I don’t care. You tend to get antsy after you finish one of those.” Malik gestured to the audiobook. He then spoke softer than normal – fidgeting with his glasses in hand. “Figured I’d save us both the trouble and let you have your way this time.”

Bakhure was stunned by his partner’s perceptiveness – not that Malik wasn’t already adept at noticing the faintest changes in a person’s demeanour or sizing an individual up within minutes. But for him to have sensed that it was always after one of the thief’s self-education sessions that he had a rush of memories flooding back to him that begged to be preserved… Bakhure felt a strange euphoria rise within his chest at the comforting thought.

“Malik, I—”

“No need to thank me. I’ve got conference calls for the next couple hours, so—” Malik regained his composure and adjusted the glasses back on his face – serving as a mask that Bakhure found far too unsettling to have to be used against him, of all people. “—Now you can entertain yourself.”

Five minutes later, Bakhure was in a state of rare giddiness as he opened each intricately-designed box – blushing when he felt them still warm from Malik’s touch.

* * *

Indeed, Bakhure spent the better part of the afternoon running his talented fingers along the smooth walls that lined their shared living space – he’d barely noticed how large today’s piece was until he stepped back and took in the full enormity of the painting. 

Nearly every inch of white had vanished – in its wake were a series of scenes depicting horses, the sun, long rows of sandy deserts, humble abodes and happy villagers all gathered in the center. None of Bakhure’s drawings ever had faces – more from lack of defined memory than anything else – nor did he portray anything that occurred in his life post-massacre. The thief touched a particular section that drew forth memories of his long-lost mother and father, and held back tears as he closed his eyes and struggled to picture how they once looked.

For whatever reason, the lessons Bakhure learned from every day – no matter how revolutionary in thought – managed to unearth in him the desire to remember happier moments, before he needed to know what sacrifice, revenge and death truly meant.

Bakhure was certainly grateful that Malik had finally been worn down enough to let him _willingly_ paint the walls as a way to remember his past – and the harsh sounds of his partner rapt in conversation drew his ear from the living room to the master bedroom.

Upon entering, he saw the blond rigid and cross-legged on the bed – speaking in an Arabic dialect with which Bakhure was unfamiliar – and clearly looking for an out to the dialogue that involved raised voices booming from his laptop. Malik’s eyes shifted up to the thief for a split second as if in warning to _not fucking interrupt_ – and Bakhure was overcome with an acute desire to mess with his partner yet again.

Taking advantage of the fact that he was fully clothed – and dirtied all over with paint, which he was sure only added to the allure – the thief slanted himself against the wall and stared straight at Malik so that they had a good view of each other. He ran a hand down his loose t-shirt and toyed with the edge where his top met his shorts. His other hand ran through his hair, over the bruises from earlier and onto the upper part of his sleeve – dragging the fabric down _just so_ to expose a tan shoulder.

Bakhure took pleasure in the contrast of Malik trying to maintain composure and becoming distracted – his voice spoke calmly as ever, while his body tensed with what was obviously the beginnings of arousal. The thief smirked and leaned back further – bringing his shirt up teasingly over his stomach before pushing it back down.

Malik – now laying back on the bed as he continued to speak to his associates – lifted his hands behind his head and raised his eyebrows, subtly urging Bakhure to continue. His eyes still stayed mostly on the computer screen, but the thief just went on with his little show – ever aware that his partner would undoubtedly catch the _important_ moments.

Spinning so Malik had a good view of his backside, Bakhure bent down on the wall and spread his legs wide so that his ass stuck out. He reached around to run over each curve and along his thighs, while his fingers teased the bottoms down just enough to show the scarred skin that only the blond was privy to. The thief let out a groan as his hand ran across the juncture where the small of his back met his cheeks. At the unexpected sound, he turned his head – sure to be flushed by now – to gauge Malik’s reaction.

As with most moments in his life, Malik had a look on his face that intimated that he held all the chips in his palm – he relaxed even further and no longer made any pretense about maintaining appearances as he slid a hand down towards his shorts. His breathing grew the tiniest bit more audible from across the room, and – having spent the last seven years in close proximity with him – Bakhure could tell from the slight twitch of his mouth that he was getting hard _fast_.

Bakhure twisted around and matched the movements of his partner, edging one hand down until he was rubbing languidly against the bulge that tented his boxers. His other hand – now impatient to have something more exciting happen – lifted his top almost completely off and ran over his dark nipples, hardened from arousal and exposure to the cool air.

For several minutes, both men panted in varying degrees as they watched each other try to maintain their poise – until Malik abruptly ended the call, threw off his glasses and rushed up to truly pin the thief against the wall.

“See what you’ve done to me?”

Their erections frotted through thin cloth, and Bakhure sighed as Malik slowly ran his fingers over the outer rim of one of his nipples – not giving in to the electric shock of ecstasy he knew the thief craved.

“Looked like you needed rescuing from those idiots— _ah!_ ” Malik finally pinched around one of the buds and dropped his head to bite and suck the other at the same time. Bakhure whined in a mixture of pain and appreciation – and was already a gasping, flustered mess by the time his partner rose back up.

“Well? You got my attention.” The blond leaned in close – closer than Bakhure would have expected given their rules – and eyed the thief up and down in a purely objectifying manner. “Now strip for me.”

So Bakhure did. As sensually as he could, the thief took control for a split second to push his partner back onto the bed. He straddled the blond’s lap and dragged the t-shirt off his wiry frame – giving greater access for Malik’s slender hands to slide along his muscular abs while still avoiding the areas that would bring about the most pleasure.

The thief then turned around to bend almost in half as his head and hands straddled the ground, and he lifted himself back up to arch against Malik’s chest. He heard his partner’s breath hitch just slightly, and took the opportunity to claim power for himself and strip his shorts off. He ground his now naked body gradually harder against Malik’s arousal – but swiftly felt himself lifted up and thrown onto the bed.

Before Bakhure could react, he felt a hand press down against his back and a tongue map out the scars marking up from his thighs to his ass and—

“ _Ohhhh, Gods_ —”

The blond didn’t give Bakhure a chance to think as he worked his lips and teeth over the tanned ass, coating it with saliva before diving in with little finesse – and making the thief whimper with need. Each caress of his partner’s tongue probed deeper and struck his nerves harder than the moment before - and he _especially_ felt a surge of energy rise through his spine when Malik began to hum and moan alongside his ministrations. Bakhure had to bite the pillow below him to keep his voice down – as much as he was enjoying himself immensely, he couldn’t let his partner know _just how fucking good_ his hot mouth felt.

“You gonna come for me like this? I have a better idea…”

 _Now_ Bakhure nearly did scream as the blond pulled away and ran his fingers along the slicked-up hole. Malik – still fully clothed, the thief noticed – turned the dark body below him so that their faces stared parallel at each other. Before the thief could ask what in Ra’s name Malik was doing—

“I believe you said something earlier about being punished.”

The blond held Bakhure’s hair back in a tight grip so that their mutually intense eyes met. By the time the thief knew what was happening, he felt two fingers enter his mouth – and he couldn’t imagine a better taste. He grinned against Malik’s hand as he coated the digits with spit, and sighed when they made their way down his torso to finally reach his entrance – teasing their way to barely slip in.

“ _Mmmm_ , some punishment— Done this— _fuck_ — loads of times—” Bakhure pushed himself down to suck the fingers up further – as he had indeed done hundreds if not thousands of times before.

“Who said _this_ was it?” Malik did relent, pushing one long finger straight inside – the thief moaned in gratitude, but couldn’t help feeling like the once-familiar scenario was about to play out differently. “Beg.”

“Oh, Malik, please stick your big fat cock inside me.” Bakhure smirked as he put on his most obviously-fake aroused voice – a provocation he would sometimes use to irk his partner and call him out when he grew bored of the dominant role he too-often played. “Change the tune once in a while, Ishtar.”

So his partner did. Bakhure genuinely yelped as a second finger made its way inside, followed quickly by a third. Malik moved their faces together – examining every change in his eyes, cheeks and mouth.

“Never said I’d be using _my cock_ this time.”

The thief felt goosebumps cover his skin and – against his better judgement – grew harder at what was about to happen. It suddenly made sense why Malik hadn’t bothered to undress, and Bakhure sneered at the realisation – playing into Malik’s game and inching nearer so that they felt each other’s breath.

“Fucking stuff me then.” Bakhure may have gotten the rough end of their arrangement more times than he’d like to admit, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t play along in his own defiant way – which is why what Malik said next sent a chill down his spine and a further jolt to his erection.

“When you come on my hand—” A fourth finger slipped in, beckoning another groan from the thief. “—You’ll have my undivided attention, _Bakhure_.”

So _this_ was his punishment – what he’d done to Malik earlier in the day would be done to him now. Not that Bakhure wasn’t already a bit of an exhibitionist – but the idea of having his partner’s gaze on him at his most vulnerable, his most exposed… it was nerve-racking, horrifying and utterly arousing all at once.

Yet by the time Malik had maneuvered his thumb against his palm and managed to push himself in to just above his wrist, Bakhure couldn’t think straight enough to care - he was overwhelmed and overstimulated and overloaded. The thief twisted his head, exposing his scar while whimpering against the duvet.

“I didn’t turn away from _you_.” Malik wrenched Bakhure's face so that they were equal again - his other hand slowly pushed in and out as each tiny movement sent a shock to the thief's system. “Look at me!”

Bakhure opened his eyes – unaware they’d even been closed – and met the oddly-curious expression plastered on Malik’s face. It was one of control, yes, but also… fascination, or even reverence.

“You like how I fuck you?” The words sounded hollow as Bakhure – rising from gasps to moans to screams as the fist inside him brushed relentlessly against his nerves in a profoundly different way than usual – locked eyes with Malik and grabbed at the wrist just outside his hole.

“Mal— Malik—”

He couldn’t form any words aside from his partner’s name – the blond took the hint that Bakhure wanted more and pushed in even further, matching the thief’s downward motions as he fucked himself on his hand. It was another new, fulfilling experience between them – if Malik’s blush was to be believed – and Bakhure hardly noticed when his free hand moved to push back his partner’s bangs and caress his cheek as he felt climax overtake him.

“Malik, Malik, Malik— _Fuck_ , Malik— _Gods_ , Malik, I— _Malik!_ ”

Bakhure came with a shriek between his bare chest and the blond’s tank top – and he impulsively wrapped both his hands around Malik’s back as he rode out an all-consuming, powerful orgasm. Not a moment later, the former tombkeeper roughly withdrew his hand at the contact – making the thief cry out again, only this time in agony at the sudden exit. Malik held the thief’s scrutiny with a similar, unreadable expression like earlier in the day – he wiped his hand on a spare washcloth, grabbed his laptop and glasses, marched out of the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

Five minutes later, Bakhure was still sprawled out on the bed, twitching from the aftershocks of pleasure and pain – and wondering how many more of Malik's rules might be broken that day.

* * *

By early evening, Bakhure paced around the apartment – his one mode of exercise, even without the excuse of quarantine – as he attempted to walk off the discomfort from a couple hours before.

Their home – the term too endearing for Bakhure’s liking, but he truly had no other way to describe where they lived – was settled at the top of a prominent luxury complex in the middle of Alexandria. From their balcony he could make out the sprawling city that would normally be teeming with life – yet these days remained unsettlingly quiet. The Mediterranean Sea lay beyond the manmade buildings and – though he never admitted it for fear of being ridiculed by his partner – Bakhure often enjoyed gazing out to the green-blue waters beyond, so similar to the few happy days he could recall spent along the Nile in his former life.

As the thief traversed the hardwood surfaces between the kitchen, living room, bedroom, study, two spare bedrooms, four bathrooms, walk-in closets and every other area in-between, Bakhure was reminded yet again of _just how much room_ they had. He wondered, not for the first time, what Malik had needed such a big apartment for before his return – and noted the irony that, even with over 4,000 square feet, they almost always ended up sharing the same space at a time anyway.

After almost an hour of striding aimlessly and gathering his thoughts about the erotic events of the day, Bakhure found himself drawn to the dining table where Malik sat, still working. The thief had gone by the blond several times as he’d walked, glancing at whatever he was writing on his laptop with each pass. Today’s topic looked to be another fluff piece, another boring look into the ways in which Egypt’s morals were studiously being upheld by model citizens. It was enough to make Bakhure gag, but the fact that it was Malik of all people who was writing that crap… he almost felt bad for the former tombkeeper.

On his final lap, the thief finally stopped to linger over Malik’s shoulder as he typed away, seemingly lost in his work. Bakhure tried reading the page – struggling to make out several words, despite his partner’s assistance with learning how to read Arabic – and must have made some sound of uneasiness, for Malik swiftly turned to meet his annoyed gaze with one of his own. The thief was caught by surprise, but stood his ground – not moving his face even with how near it was to the blond’s.

“It’s dinnertime.”

“You’re an adult. Barely.” Malik didn’t even bother to smirk – and Bakhure wondered why the lack of playful energy between them bothered him so much. “Go fix yourself something if you’re hungry.”

“I meant that _you_ needed to eat.” Resisting the urge to joke about how his partner had already "eaten" his ass earlier, Bakhure moved to uneasily sit next to the laptop. Considering Malik carefully now, he noted a sallowness to his frame – despite the similar physique to his younger days, there was a ghoulish look to him which Bakhure hated to admit was worrying. “Have you had anything since this morning? Did you even take your medicine?”

At that, Malik stood up to move into Bakhure’s space – hands splayed on either side of him on the table.

“How old am I, Bakhure?”

“Old enough to know better than to use your age as leverage. Fuck, even I—”

“Even _you_? Says the guy who refuses to use his inhaler when he’s having a fucking asthma attack.” Bakhure hated to admit that Malik was right – and so just positioned himself closer to the blond.

“I was taking care of myself thousands of years before you were born, _Ishtar_.” Like earlier, the thief punctuated the surname so it dripped with both desire and vitriol. “Besides, the issue with my shitty lungs is solved easily enough by staying inside. Plenty to do in our— I mean, _your_ lovely apartment.”

“Yeah. Like piss me off. It’s almost like you _want_ me to have a fucking stroke.”

 _That_ was new – Bakhure nearly did a double-take at the offense, but just moved his hands to tightly grip Malik’s shoulders.

“Look, bastard. As much as _you_ piss me off—” Unconsciously, Bakhure’s hold loosened – he dragged his fingers along Malik’s exposed forearms and up his neck. “—I still give a shit if you keel over, alright?”

The blond pulled away from the intimate gesture faster than he probably intended. A moment later, he was rummaging through a cabinet in the adjacent kitchen – and returned with a prescription bottle filled with small pills. Sure enough, one appeared to be missing as Bakhure looked over the cannister.

“Happy now? I’ll take the next one later this evening. Whenever I eat.”

“Right.” Bakhure shrugged and handed the bottle back over – resisting the urge to keep holding on as his and Malik’s fingers brushed together on the plastic. The thief swore he saw his partner’s cheeks turn a slight shade of red at the contact – and so piped up to resume his earlier line of questioning. “So… speaking of food—”

“For the love of Ra, give me five minutes to finish this fucking paragraph.” Malik didn’t yell – he _never_ yelled when he was truly angry – but he did tower over Bakhure in his attempt to grab the laptop. “I’m under enough stress already without you hanging around me every second. I thought my siblings were bad—”

“Why don’t you go be with them if I’m bothering you so much?”

“You know damn well that I can’t go see my family. Not unless—” Malik suddenly hesitated, and Bakhure watched as the blond removed his glasses and set the laptop back down – as if holding back some huge secret before letting it out in one go. “—Not unless I want to risk you getting sick. Or dying.”

“ _Pfft_. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’m serious.” An expression of sincere hurt crossed Malik’s features for a brief second, before being replaced by a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes.

“So am I.” A soft roar of thunder sounded in the distance, and Bakhure jumped off the table to follow the blond's lead as he trudged into the living room. “Since when do you care what happens to me?”

“You may be a dumbass, but you’re not a fuckwit. Why would I have brought you back if I didn’t care?”

“Let’s see… Maybe it was… _sex_?” Bakhure threw a knowing look in Malik’s direction and found it returned to him tenfold – the not-confirmation struck him deeper than he ever expected.

“Maybe you _are_ a fuckwit then, if that’s what you think.”

“Meaning?” The thief grabbed Malik’s arm, and refused to let go as his partner struggled against the contact. “You’ve been acting weird all day, this whole time we’ve been trapped together. I can take a hint. If you’d rather hide away from me and the world with Baldy and your preachy sister—”

“You think this is easy for me being trapped inside with you all the time? After everything I went through as a kid?” The blond – very uncharacteristically – pulled himself into Bakhure’s body and rested his head on the thief’s shoulder. “I’m 38-years-old. I don’t have any fight left in me. I used it all up years ago.”

“Bullshit. You’ve forgotten.”

“No, just got older. And wiser. And realised the world—”

“Is changing now more than ever, _fuckwit_.” Bakhure pulled Malik’s face up – and was shocked to see the former tombkeeper looking more despondent than he’d ever appeared before. “Gods, if your teenage self could see you now, he’d be so disappointed.”

“My teenage self would fucking _weep_ if he knew all the people he’d lose after a decade.” Malik pushed away and gestured to the setting sun over Alexandria – punctuated by a burst of lightening and a louder thundering that visibly shook the blond. “I know you’re younger. I know you think the world is simple. But this, right now— it isn’t some big revolution waiting to happen. You weren’t _here_ ten years ago. You don’t know what it was like when they came after _us_ for just being ourselves. But _I_ remember.”

“Are you seriously going to play the agony card? Because if so, kindly fuck off.”

“You’re not the only one who’s suffered. I can’t even tell you how many I lost. Friends, colleagues, lov—" Bakhure’s eyes went wide. For all his openness about the traumas in his life, Malik had _never_ been so blatantly honest about his own – and a dark realisation came over him.

“Oh, I see. You brought me back me as a last resort? Makes me feel _so_ special.” The thief crossed his arms like a child and leaned next to his newest painting on the wall. Malik – now genuinely irate – clenched his fists. The patter of rain began to sound outside as their argument continued.

“You fucking idiot. I brought you back because I wanted you to have the life that you were denied!”

“Yeah, some life! Spending the last seven years doing nothing but watch you write your stupid columns when there’s plenty going on in this country that needs calling out. It’s no different than my time.”

“This _isn’t_ like your time. You can’t just storm a palace with no plan. One person can’t make a difference, and I don’t have anything or anyone left to fight for.”

It was clear that Malik regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth – but the damage was done, and the rain fell harder as if in mocking.

“If you won’t fight, I will. And if I don’t make a difference to you, I will for others. Like you wanted, eh?” Bakhure eased himself off the wall. He held the blond’s gaze from across the room – a chasm of pain between them – as he grabbed a red hoodie and pulled it over his head, growing more frenzied with each second.

“You’ll get sick if you—” The blond moved forward, almost petrified by the thought of what Bakhure was about to do.

“You, Pegasus, Kaiba, all of you who dared to face the Pharaoh— you lot had resources, support systems, time, money, friends. And what did I have? Fuck all. Just myself, alone for fifteen years in a too-hot desert with the screams of my family ringing in my ears each day. And then wishing, _begging_ for their cries to replace the utter silence for millennia in the Ring.” Bakhure didn’t want to continue – but figured that if they were _really_ talking for the first time, he might as well let it all out. “And for another fifteen years wallowing in the shadows, _you_ were the only thing on my mind. The only thought that kept me sane.”

“Bakhure... Don't go. Please.” Malik spoke so softly that the thief might have mistaken it for someone else's voice - his partner seemed to age ten years with the desperate plea.

“Look at you, Malik. You may be as pretty as ever, but you’re not well.” Bakhure swallowed and took one last look at the stubborn, beautiful man whom he’d ironically spent more time with than anyone else in his millennia of existence. “I fought for you more than twenty years ago. Fought for your brother and your soul. I’ve done terrible things, but at least I had a reason for doing them beyond just me. And I can’t lose another person I care about. Especially if it’s because they’ve— _you’ve_ given up. Not again.”

Five minutes later, Bakhure trod outside the apartment complex – not bothering to look back as the silhouette of Malik loomed overhead from their balcony.


	3. Louder Than Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we have the obligatory "we're outside again" section, but with a bit of a twist from the normal route. I know fanfics aren't the number one priority during a time of pandemic or much-needed protests, but I sincerely hope this piece - this whole trilogy of stories - helped people smile, think, gain positivity, feel good, experience catharsis or just take a break from the world for awhile. Many thanks to everyone who's left kudos, commented and supported these three fics - y'all are amazing :)

In the time between their quarrel and subsequent falling out, night had fallen across the city like a foul demon extinguishing all semblance of life – something with which Bakhure was all too familiar.

The hard rain – harder than any he could remember from his lifetime thousands of years ago – pelted the sidewalks and homes and scant greenery of Alexandria. Yet the eerily vacant streets – still reeling from the past several months of quarantine – became a blur as Bakhure power-walked through the icicles that assaulted his face without abandon. For all the good that the rain was doing to cool him off after a day rife with sweat and stickiness, he genuinely didn’t even notice as his body morphed from overheated to near-freezing.

The intense argument from moments before ran through his head – and Bakhure reeled as he replayed the events that led to his barging out head-first into the storm. He and Malik _never_ argued. Exchange banter? Yes. Piss each other off? On the daily. But not once in the past seven years – nor the preceding fifteen years that included their brief time together post-Battle City and pre-Ceremonial Duel – had they ever fought so severely or looked so ready to leave everything they shared in the dust.

But really, Bakhure wondered… what _did_ they have?

For Malik – despite his protests claiming otherwise – Bakhure was intent to believe that it was all about sex, pure and simple. Their relationship had been based around control and pent-up frustrations and using one another for their own personal gains the entire time they’d known one another. And especially since he’d returned to Malik, the bastard seemed content enough to use Bakhure’s body for his own pleasure whenever it pleased him.

So… when had that stopped being enough for Bakhure? Much to his slowly percolating emotional state, the thief pondered when he had gone from lusting after Malik… to _loving_ him.

In light of not just today and not just the previous months locked in with only each other for company... but _all_ the time they’d been together amounting to nearly a decade's worth of memories, the idea was almost laughable - yet it was simultaneously undeniable.

Bakhure loved the assertive, bratty, diffident, egoistic, infuriating and obstinate man with whom he'd made a home.

Bakhure loved the focus Malik put on his work – even when it irked him beyond belief – and how his face, aged like a fine wine, furrowed in concentration during whatever task on which his heart was set.

Bakhure loved the scant, small moments of devotion and passion that still lit up Malik’s entire body – even years after his days of revolt against the Pharaoh – when he talked about his family or a particularly interesting story.

Bakhure loved exchanging the small gifts that would occasionally appear to each other without any acknowledgment – almost like a challenge to be stolen despite them clearly being meant for one another.

Bakhure loved the brief moments just after he and Malik were both mutually satisfied when their fingers would brush or they’d stare just a bit too long at their flushed faces – which, he realised, had only grown more pronounced each time it had happened in the passing months.

Bakhure loved having Malik constantly around – how, across time and darkness, he had been through so similar a hell to the thief that it made snarky conversation easy, mutual understanding palatable and immense solitude a thing of the past.

Bakhure loved knowing that – after thousands of years spent in deafening solitude – there was someone on the other side who’d wanted him alive after all, even if it was for purely selfish reasons.

Somehow over time, those little moments had built up into the closest semblance of love that he could recall since his family had been murdered.

But really, it didn’t matter much when or how it had happened. His “lover” – the word almost causing a choked laugh as Bakhure thought it – had exposed himself tonight for the genuine bastard he was, had always been. It was clear now that Malik truly didn’t see Bakhure as anything more than a nuisance and a mistake, nothing worth fighting for – so there was no need to stay somewhere where he wasn’t at least given some modicum of appreciation. And if leaving didn’t make the former thief king’s point clear… nothing would.

A few scattered lights shone along the streets, but otherwise there was no sign of life anywhere nearby. Suddenly, the feeling of being back in the Ring struck Bakhure to his very core – he breathed in heavy out of both a repressed panic and the newness of languishing outside after months of being cooped up indoors. Perhaps this hadn’t been the best idea – especially given his predisposition towards respiratory issues – but his current form had never been one for grand schemes, preferring instead to make bold gestures in the hopes that a plan would eventually stick.

And now that the harsh words they’d swapped had finally been spoken aloud, an admittedly odd weight felt lifted from Bakhure’s shoulders – yet there was something about being alone and cold and in the wrong attire and _not with Malik wrapped together in their bed_ that brought a genuine sadness to his heart. _More_ than sadness. The thought that what he’d had with Malik might well be over, no matter how potentially unhealthy it had been for years, was suddenly overwhelming and wholly life-altering – in a way that Bakhure hadn’t felt since the sands of Egypt covered the concrete under his feet millennia ago.

So as the rain fell down harder and the need for air grew stronger and the darkness enshrouded him more and more as his pace slowed, Bakhure ducked into a nearby alley and curled up against the wall – a gesture he knew all too well from the immediate days after the destruction of his village. Only this time, he was soaked to the bone - genuinely unable to tell if the wetness surrounding his face was from the rain or the tears that he could no longer hold back.

Breathing became harder the more he let loose his pent-up emotions. His vision became obscured by the surrounding gloom and the droplets trickling down his hair. Yet through all the concentrated sensory deprivation, there came the faint call nearby of—

“Bakhure!”

No. It couldn’t be. Malik hated the rain – hated the dark even more – and he’d never—

“ _Bakhure!_ ”

His gasps for air must have been louder than he thought, because before Bakhure knew it he felt something tough and intrusive shoved into his mouth – and suddenly the world and his lungs opened up again and his breathing became easier.

When he finally regained control of his inhalations, Bakhure noted the hand on his waist that lifted him up to lean against the alley wall. Another hand raised to his bangs and drew them away from his eyes – allowing Bakhure to just barely see the unreadable expression of Malik before him. The inhaler once held in Malik’s hands now lay forgotten in a puddle between them. The thief couldn’t make out many details, but it was easy to tell that the former tombkeeper was panting heavily himself and looked just as drenched from the rain – kohl smudged around his eyes, normally perfect hair now matted to his cheeks, also dressed inappropriately for the weather in his thin tank top and a wrinkled pair of jeans.

“Malik, what the fuck are you doing—”

The answer to his abruptly-ended question came when Bakhure felt soft lips press firmly against his own. He barely registered the hard surface of the wall cutting into his back as Malik held onto him for dear life and pulled back an inch a moment later. Long fingers ran across Bakhure’s wet – and very shocked – face, cupping the flesh more tenderly than he’d ever experienced in life before.

“I remembered what was worth fighting for.”

“Hm?” Bakhure must have still been in a daze – he and Malik had just had the argument of the century, and now they were gasping softly into each other’s personal space, bodies pressed together and gazes lidded from the unexpected kiss. In all their time together, per their rules, not once had their lips met – and suddenly Bakhure wondered what the hell they had been missing out on for so many years.

“I’m answering your question.” Malik moved in even closer to wrap his arms around Bakhure’s neck and tilt his head so their mouths were aligned better. “It’s you, Bakhure. It’s always been you. And I’ve been a fucking idiot to not fight for you more all this time.”

“ _Hmph._ This doesn’t feel like fighting now.” Bakhure answered with his usual snark, but deep down he felt he must be dreaming – it was the only explanation. Yet the rain still felt real, and the warmth from Malik’s wiry frame pressed against his own _definitely_ felt real, and the look of pure adoration – almost certainly matched by Bakhure – plastered on his near-perfect face was undeniable as anything but the obvious. He swallowed hard and gripped into Malik’s hips to edge their lower halves together. “Careful, Ishtar. You have a reputation to uphold. People might think you really _have_ gone soft.”

“I’m done giving a shit what others think.”

Malik ghosted his mouth against Bakhure’s – almost teasing the idea of another kiss – but never quite made full contact. True to form, the blond knew just how to prolong the line between anticipation and pleasure.

“You’re not scared someone might see?”

Bakhure was genuinely curious – and slightly concerned. Never before had he seen or felt such vulnerability from his partner – Malik was positively shaking. Yet for all their combined years of wisdom courtesy of their “older” age, in that moment it felt as if they’d returned to who they were during Battle City – young and eager and ready to take on the world for the crimes committed against them. Bakhure still couldn’t see very clearly, but he didn’t miss an unmistakable, long-lost fervor entering Malik’s intense eyes.

“I _am_ scared, dumbass. All the time. After everything that happened here, I was too scared to say that— that I’d fucking fallen in love with you years ago. I couldn’t even admit it to myself until—” The older man choked on his words – so spoke with his actions as he ran his thumb along Bakhure’s pronounced cheekbones, down his obvious scar, across his full lips bruised from their recent kiss. “—Until you left me just now. And I remembered what being alone again felt like. What giving up felt like.”

Bakhure could only nod in agreement – he had stormed out just fifteen minutes ago, give or take, but it had been the longest fifteen minutes of his recent life. 

“If this _is_ fear… and if this _is_ fighting… I don’t want to give in anymore.” Malik continued – laying the softest pecks onto Bakhure’s face as he spoke. “And I don’t… want you out… of my life… ever again. I’m not too proud to beg… so promise me, Bakhure… _please promise me_ … you won’t leave?”

Now it was Bakhure who closed the gap between their mouths, pulling them away from the world in one continuous, fierce kiss – a kiss that Malik gladly accepted with all the repressed, hidden longing that seemed to exist between them. It was all the answer that either of them needed.

The storm surrounding them suddenly didn’t matter. The idea that a non-existent passerby might see them suddenly didn’t matter. The past traumas they’d experienced both together and apart suddenly didn’t matter. The concept of growing old suddenly didn’t matter. The darkness, the thunder, the wet clothes, the fighting, the age difference, the bruises, the quarantine, the entire world – none of it mattered when a revolution within their combined hearts beat furiously like a battle cry.

As they drew back and fought for air – only to immediately dive in again for the precious contact that had been denied between them for so long – Bakhure marveled at how any and all resistance between them had been vanquished with one simple gesture. Now the real work began.

* * *

They finally made it back to the apartment – _their_ apartment – half an hour later, making sure they’d spent just enough time getting fully soaked as they’d kissed and kissed and just kissed more within the confines of the alley. Each brush of their mouths had been surprisingly chaste, with just the faintest hint of tongue and the slightest grazing of teeth along swollen lips. But for all their usual rushing headfirst into each new sensation, Bakhure had to admit that it was nice to finally take their time to explore such an intimate act together – even if it meant that they were now sopping, bedraggled messes whose hands never quite left each other’s slippery skin.

“Want me to help you take your clothes off?” Malik half-smiled through his ruined make-up and pulled Bakhure inside. Water tracked into the foyer as they peeled shoes and shirts and shorts off their slick bodies. Yet for all their stripping down – not nearly as sexy as either had probably hoped it would be – neither really glanced at the other’s more _private_ areas until they literally bumped shoulders in an attempt to reach one of the many bathrooms. They blushed when their wet skin touched again – despite the sensation being more than familiar after so many years – and maneuvered awkwardly around each other until Malik finally grabbed their clothes to hang up to dry. “Seems I have to do everything around here, as always.” 

Only this time when Malik spoke, there was no malice to his voice – just light teasing and a fuller smile that filled Bakhure’s heart and urged him to truly never leave the blond’s side again. The thief followed his partner into the spacious, marbled area – not caring if puddles formed where he walked – and wrapped his arms around Malik from behind. For once, being the shorter of the pair had its perks – he didn’t even think as he leaned his face into the crux of the tan spine and ghosted slow kisses along the cruel patterns that marked Malik’s back. Surprisingly, the former tombkeeper relaxed into the intimacy as he fiddled with wringing out the clothes over the bathtub – before giving up and leaning against the nearby wall to allow Bakhure better access to his body.

“Since I know you work so hard—” The thief bent down lower and lower, planting kisses along Malik’s sides and the small of his back – before brushing his fingers against the tight jeans that still clung to the blond like a second skin, making him moan. “—What can I do for you, _hayati_?”

The term of affection slipped out without Bakhure thinking – yet its utterance managed to make Malik’s breath hitch and draw the thief back up and have them turn to face each other. Bakhure was still in his shirt and boxers as he pressed their bodies into the cool tiled wall – and the sense that they were both wearing far too much clothing permeated the air.

“Iwantyouinsideme.”

Bakhure couldn’t have heard that right. He blinked twice – almost entirely out of his reverie – and stood on the balls of his feet to get nearer to Malik’s face.

“Still recovering from the asthma attack. What did you—”

The blond promptly bent down to more evenly match Bakhure’s height and pressed a series of quick pecks from the thief’s jawline to his earlobe.

“I want you, Bakhure. I want you to fuck me.” Malik whispered the words far too sensually into Bakhure’s ear, and suddenly their fingers caressed against familiar skin as if touching for the first time – eventually grasping to remove the pesky remaining clothes so they landed in a heap on the floor with a ferocity that was matched only by their mouths joining again. Their tongues met and more thoroughly explored each other’s distinct taste as they grabbed onto cheeks, wrists, thighs – whatever was within arm’s reach.

For the life of him, Bakhure had no idea how they managed to _not_ break the kiss as their naked frames traveled from the bathroom to the master bedroom. Only when they landed on the soft duvet and groaned at their skin flush against one another and laid side-by-side and gently rocked their erections together did Malik’s request ring back in the thief’s head – he pulled away and considered the infuriatingly attractive face before him, brushing a few damp strands of hair away from his partner’s eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never… trusted. Even back in my 20’s, I never…” Malik drew Bakhure back to him with a strange mix of gentleness and passion – as if years of emotional repression had short-circuited his brain to the point where he didn’t know the difference between tender and intense. The blond’s eyes fell to the bruises along his partner’s body, and he winced. “I owe you. Gods, do I owe you for—”

“This isn’t about owing, Malik. We’re clearly _both_ idiots, seeing as how this took us so fucking long to finally talk, for Ra's sake.” Ever snarky, Bakhure smirked and held Malik’s face in his rough hands, stroking under the smudged kohl lines. “But we’re also equals. Always have been. And… I don’t want to just _fuck_ you.”

The desire – that, even now, neither could admit to – remained unspoken as the thief furtively reached over for the lube. They dragged their lips against each other again - more languidly, wanting to draw the moment out - but Malik unconsciously tensed as Bakhure shifted to lie in-between his legs. The thief drew back, searching for a sign to continue – and hiding his own nervousness – before his partner nodded and sighed as his fingers and tongue drew leisurely down his chest and around his nipples to further relax him.

“ _Gods_ … I trust you…”

“And I love you.” Bakhure looked up as his hand grasped Malik’s bony hip - while his tongue and teeth teased a quivering inner thigh. “Wouldn’t have stayed around for so long if I didn’t.”

The former tombkeeper chuckled – before crying out as a lubed-up middle finger ever-so-gently entered him below. Malik squeezed his eyes shut as Bakhure placed more kisses along his stomach and licked along his cockhead and reached up to caress his hardened buds – doing whatever came to mind to make sure his partner relaxed around the intrusion. Slowly, the thief moved the finger deeper inside the tight canal and let out a sigh of relief as Malik slanted his eyes open – now panting in what Bakhure prayed was pleasure instead of pain.

“ _Mmmm_ … Another…”

Bakhure nodded and did as he was told – painfully aware how, even while holding all the power this time around, Malik couldn’t resist giving orders. He inched a second finger inside, reaching into the tight heat. But this time, his partner cursed in what was unmistakably discomfort.

“Too much?”

“My back.” The blond leaned up – now drenched in a mixture of rainwater and sweat – and reached behind him, only to hiss at the slightest touch against his carvings. The thief removed his fingers and gently pulled Malik forward so that he sat in his lap – a position he had been intrigued by since they’d started their sexual research months ago, but had been too hesitant to try before now.

“Better?” Bakhure wrapped his arms and legs around Malik, and the former tombkeeper instinctively copied the motion. Their chests heaved against one another as the newness of the situation dawned on them – not only had they broken nearly every one of their rules earlier in the day, now they were about to forgo all of them at once. The intimate proximity held a certain curious terror in their eyes, so they fought through it the only way they knew how – leaning closer, kissing deeper, mapping out every scar that crossed their marked bodies as they moaned with each touch.

The thief nearly forgot what he’d been doing before, until an insistent hand guided his fingers back to Malik’s entrance – this time when they penetrated, it brought forth a cry not of agony but of sincere ecstasy.

“Fuck… _Oh, fuck_ … Is that… _fuck_ …”

Bakhure knew that look well – and couldn’t imagine a more beautiful image than Malik rapt in pleasure as he slowly began to ride his fingers like a cock. Even his orgasmic state earlier in the day couldn’t hold a candle to how the blond now lidded his eyes and parted his lips and leaned forward to steal sloppy kisses. The blond didn’t even seem to notice as a third finger entered him, stretching and stroking his insides like Bakhure knew _he_ enjoyed. He caressed the few untouched spots on Malik’s back, bringing about further cries of desire – and in that moment, the thief wanted nothing more than to give them both what they had hidden from each other for so long.

“Are you—”

“Gods, yes… just—” It was a command as usual – but followed up with a kiss, it felt more like the fulfillment of a tacit desire. Malik bit his lip and pressed his forehead against Bakhure’s chest as he kissed his heart - breathing heavy with anticipation and nerves, before finally allowing himself to cup the thief's face so they couldn't escape the other's gaze. “Love me, Bakhure. Love me.”

At the barely-audible words, Bakhure blindly lubed his throbbing cock and pressed it against his partner’s hole. Very slowly, both men eased into each other with soft pants – before tightening the grips of their hands on still-slick flesh as they joined completely. They each swallowed at the flushed look on one another’s faces and tentatively leaned forward to kiss gently – tongues reaching out to drag over mouths and teeth.

Malik moved first – never breaking their lip-lock as he rocked in Bakhure’s lap, adjusting to the size and shape and sensation. The thief eventually broke away to caress his partner’s face and match the movements below him. More than the intimacy, the quietness of the experience surprised Bakhure – normally it felt like a race to see who would be the loudest, yet somehow the near-silent whimpers and gasps and moans that they both now elicited were more erotic than any screams they’d made in the last seven years.

“Malik…”

“I… I love you, Bakhure…”

“I love you… _Gods_ , I love you… for so long...”

They whispered sweet nothings against mouths and cheeks and foreheads and chests and shoulders as their pace quickened – and Malik finally _did_ let out a choked cry as Bakhure hit him dead-on, sending a jolt to his system.

“So… so good, Bakhure... _ohh!_ ”

They gave up on kissing and settled for holding each other’s scrutiny as they hitched their bodies together, watching the pleasure grow on one another’s face. The intimacy should have frightened them – but they had resisted experiencing it together so long, it almost came second nature as they drove deeper and harder. Malik bit his lip and fluttered his eyes, tilting his head back with each thrust to his inner nerves.

“I want you... to come… for me...” Bakhure bucked faster, urging his partner to finally let go – and feeling a pleasant tension well in his own abdomen as Malik’s semi-strangled wails resonated close in his ears.

“Touch me… please… _ahhhh!_ ”

Almost as soon as the thief’s hand came to rest between their bodies and stroked Malik’s dripping cockhead and engorged shaft, his partner came wordlessly on both their chests. The tightness and heat and contracting muscle around his own erection was too much, and Bakhure felt himself empty into Malik with a deep groan. Yet for all their gasps for air and trembling limbs, they stayed in their position for several more minutes – basking in the warmth and glow of their shared orgasm, and never letting their eyes wander to anything but their satisfied faces.

“So… what took us so long?” Malik broke the silence with a smirk and a raised eyebrow – but Bakhure wanted to keep the rare sense of peace between them for once, and so just hugged his partner against him as tight as he could.

“We got older. And wiser. And the world let us finally be free.”

Bakhure could have sworn he heard Malik let out a choked sob and felt hot tears run down his shoulder – but he was too tired and blissed-out to care. By the time they fell back against the bed, they were both fast asleep.

* * *

“I was thinking.”

“ _Mmmm_ , always dangerous with us.”

“I’m serious.” Malik offered a swift kick to Bakhure’s shin as his arms entangled more around the thief’s waist. “I think I’d like to do my next article on you. Your life story.”

Bakhure turned to face Malik – who still looked as completely love-struck as he had after their late-night love-making just a few hours before.

“It’s not just _my_ story, you know. My whole village—”

“Should be remembered. They were your family.” The blond shifted his eyes to look around the room at the various drawings the thief had made over the past several years. “It can’t make up for what happened. But... maybe it’s a start?”

The veiled meaning of his partner’s words – as well as his somewhat remorseful demeanour – struck Bakhure deep in a part of his soul that he’d thought long forgotten. He leaned forward to press his lips against Malik’s – a sensation which he was sure neither would ever tire – and grinned into the kiss when he heard them sigh at the same time.

“I think… it’s your best idea yet.” The thief drew back slightly to take in every detail on Malik’s older but no-less-stunning face – the faint wrinkles, the small drag on his cheeks, the light bags under his eyes – and took a deep breath before admitting the final confession that laid deep within his heart. “Gods, Malik, you’re—”

“Beautiful?” Bakhure’s blank stare was all the confirmation Malik needed – and the blond looked away sheepishly, almost as if finally acknowledging the passage of time across his face. “Well, it was worth a shot. I do try my best, you know. It just gets harder some days to keep up the routine, especially when we’re locked—”

Bakhure rolled his eyes and did his own locking – drawing Malik in for another slow drag of their lips.

“Malik… you’re the most… beautiful thing… I’ve ever held. But… you’re something better… than just beautiful…” Bakhure pulled away again – intentionally holding his hand against Malik’s heart like he had the day before, and bringing the other man’s hand to his own chest. “ _You’re_ my family.”

If ever Malik could look taken aback, it was in this moment. He closed his eyes in understanding and brought their foreheads together so that their noses brushed.

“Then it seems only fair, if I’m going to tell your story, that I hold myself to the same promise I had you make yesterday.” Malik’s mouth hung above the thief’s, but he didn’t push any closer. Eager to take charge like normal, the blond moved to straddle Bakhure – yet, for once, a semblance of genuine equality hung between them as he stared into the other’s tranquil face and whispered against desperate lips. “I’ll make sure I stay alive no matter what. I’ll take care of myself, of you, of _us_ , and I’ll never leave you. Whatever happens, Bakhure, I’ll be your family from now until the day I die... and beyond.”

When they finally kissed again, it was the closest they would ever admit to sealing a vow over twenty years in the making – mutually aware that, without using words, they had made the promise to fight for each other years ago on a blimp that hung over a small city two continents away.

The late morning light barely seeped through soft curtains, filling the intimate bedroom with a warmth that only the familiar lands of Egypt could provide.

Of course, Bakhure barely noticed the light – given that his attention was focused intently on caressing the glowing, beloved man who laid above him. Nor did he have much use for the warmth – given that said man represented the embodiment of the sun itself, in both appearance and raw power.

This was the final spiritual test, the eventual end game — knowing that the thief, with all his past torments and repressed memories, could linger on the atrocities that had plagued both him and his partner thousands of years apart… but instead chose to focus on this perfect, inevitable moment.

After all, it was just him and Malik - content and accepting and loved and willing to fight for one another if the whole world was against them. It had always been that way. And if it had taken another 3,000 years to regain what he’d lost, Bakhure would have gladly waited. Malik was worth the wait. What they finally _admitted_ they had together – after years of hiding in plain sight – was worth the wait.


End file.
